The Flex of the Thumb

by James Bennett

  The students to whom he spoke were playing cards in close proximity to Reggie’s table. They mumbled and grumbled and shoved around reluctantly to make room for Revuelto to sit down.

  Finding his seat, Revuelto clapped a few of the students on the back, then loudly ordered two fried eggs, sausage links, hash browns, four pieces of toast, and orange juice. He began telling the students all about some of his close calls with Venezuelan officials and underworld figures. Very little of what he told them was factual.

  Then the breakfast came. Revuelto began devouring the eggs and toast aggressively, in doubled-up forkfuls. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and ran in little rivulets down his chubby, swarthy face. The uncooked white of the eggs dribbled in cloudy streams through his chin whiskers. Egg yolk stuck in his mustache. Revuelto gobbled on.

  Seated next to him was Rita Lieberman. She stared at the spectacle of Revuelto with his eggs and toast and said, “Oh my god.”

  Revuelto looked at her briefly, then threw back his head to laugh savagely. Small fragments of his breakfast erupted from his mouth like spray.

  “Oh my god,” Rita repeated herself. She moved her chair to a safer distance.

  Reggie Rose had to wonder by this time whether this breakfast experience was significantly better than his earlier one with Bertie. After he paid his bill, he left quickly.

  He found Oboe Meel basking on the quad with two maintenance men and a nondescript student of passive body language. He sat down just in time to hear Sydney Gibbs ask Oboe, “How many kids do you have, Oboe?”

  “Sixteen. I have sixteen children.”

  “Why so many?”

  Oboe did not find this question impertinent. He said, “I will be happy to tell you.”

  Reggie Rose turned instantly glum, for he knew this answer would be lengthy in the extreme.

  Oboe began by saying, “There is in every man a longing for recognition which endures. The idea of a lasting effect. Some people call this immortality, and link it in some fashion with a belief in God and/or the hereafter.”

  He continued, “I too have such a longing. I too want to have an impact on the world. My way of doing this is by creating as many little Meels as possible, and sending them out into the world. In other words, my offspring are my lasting effect.”

  “Well, I always wanted to know,” said Sydney Gibbs. “Thanks a lot for telling me.”

  “Did you ever hear of a thing called birth control?” asked Billy Byrd, the second maintenance man.

  But as Oboe was not finished, he found it convenient to ignore both remarks. “It isn’t only that I have sired 16 children. Oh no. I have sired 16 consuming children. Most all of my offspring have reached adulthood; only one is still in her teens. All the children are voracious consumers. They all own at least one full-sized car which consumes large quantities of fuel. They all have closets full of clothes. They have computers and video games and televisions and VCRs. They have audio tapes, video tapes, and CDs. They use many cans, bottles, plastic, and paper products.”

  “Well, thanks again for telling me.”

  Oboe went on, “Having 16 children would account for some impact on the world, I suppose, but having 16 consuming children! Think of the impact on the world’s resources! Think of the drain on forests and petroleum products and landfills and even the sea itself! In this way, do you see, I am achieving a lasting effect.”

  Oboe paused long enough to take several deep breaths. He took out his red bandanna and began wiping his forehead. Leaping to their feet, Sydney Gibbs and Billy Byrd seized the opportunity to excuse themselves. Vano Lucas, the silent student, did not move or speak; he took no notice of the two maintenance men in motion.

  Reggie had taken the matchbook absently from his pocket. He worried it from one hand to the other. Having endured Meel’s excruciating verbal tome, he had little patience: “See here, Meel, there’s a great deal of work to be done in curriculum development.”

  Oboe’s eyes were closed. “Does this sound like a topic which will excite my interest?”

  “If we don’t do something soon in curriculum development, we will be in serious trouble.”

  “What I know about curriculum development would probably not fill a thimble. What I care about it would be considerably less.”

  “The trustees’ report is quite specific on this point,” persisted Reggie.

  Oboe responded with a rhetorical question: “Have I not told you on prior occasions that your trustees’ report is a fiction?”

  Reggie fumed inwardly, but sighed out loud. His eyes traveled impatiently across the printing on the matchbook in his hand. A thought came to him: “See here, Meel, what about astrology?”

  Oboe opened his eyes long enough to ask, “What about it?”

  “I’m asking you for your opinion on astrology.”

  He closed his eyes again. “There are those who find it fascinating. For example, the lady who scavenges the aluminum cans from the dumpsters in our neighborhood.”

  Reggie stood up abruptly. He felt his energy returning. “Meel, I have to say I find your remarks encouraging. I say, let’s consider that this matter is now under advisement.”

  “If that’s what you say, I am not wont to quarrel with it.”

  Vano was so deep in it didn’t occur to him that this was an odd sort of exchange.

  Reggie left in higher spirits. He made his way directly to Mrs. Askew’s desk. “Do we offer any courses in astrology, Mrs. Askew?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What do you think of astrology, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Personally, I would never set foot out of the house without first consulting my horoscope.”

  Reggie found her remark even more encouraging than Oboe Meel’s. He inquired, “Mrs. Askew, what is it exactly that the trustees’ report says about our curriculum?”

  She had to pause a few moments while she chewed her pencil. “Well, for one thing, it says we need to set our sights higher.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” said Reggie. “You can’t set your sights much higher than the stars in the heavens.”

  He went to his office where he collapsed in the swivel chair. Tired though he was, he felt a strong sense of accomplishment. First (through his encounter with Chaplain Johansen), he had struck the initiative to move the campus in the direction of godliness. Now, he was about to take the lead in curriculum development.

  It was on a Thursday afternoon when Mary Thorne made her way up to the third floor of Vano’s dorm. Then she made her way to Vano’s room. This was against policy, as these were not designated visiting hours, but when Mary was getting heat, she didn’t let much of anything stand in her way.

  Robin Snook was at football practice, but Arnold Beeker was seated at his desk, working on a calculus template on his computer screen. Mary said to Arnold, “Get lost.”

  Arnold could tell by her demeanor that this wasn’t the time to proclaim his rights. He left. As soon as he was gone, Mary closed the door behind him. She embraced Vano savagely, then began rapidly removing his clothes.

  They made love passionately (at least for her part) on his bed in a feverish congress which lasted the better part of 20 minutes. Then Mary sat on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigarette, yet another policy violation. While doing this she informed him, “Coach Radulski keeps calling me. He wants me to influence you to pitch baseball.”

  This information didn’t surprise Vano, nor did it disturb the comfortable resonance of his zone.

  “He’s an alkie,” said Mary. “I bet you didn’t know that.”

  “I think I did know that,” Vano replied.

  “He wants me to manipulate you.”

  When Vano had the reply he wanted, he said, “I used to be a pitcher. I’m pretty sure I was very good. What did you say to him?”

  “I told him to kiss off. I don’t manipulate, I get heat.” She dropped her cigarette into a waiting Mountain Dew can and listened to the ssizzz. Then she changed the su
bject. “It’s a burden to have a body this beautiful. I bet you never thought of that, did you?”

  “I’m pretty sure I never have, Mary.”

  “A little faster, huh? The point is, when you have a body this beautiful you have to take care of every part. Just take my feet for instance. If I’m going to wear sandals, which I often do, I have to make sure my feet are beautiful. How many people have to deal with that??”

  Vano tried to think about it briefly, but couldn’t get anywhere.

  Mary went on, “You have no idea the work that goes into it. Your feet have to be tan on top. They don’t have to be tan on the bottom, feet are the one place where it’s okay to have a tan line. Your feet always have to be real clean and well manicured; sloppy toenails are really gross. Really gross. Then if you want to put nail polish on your toenails, it has to be just the right shade. I had this nice beige shade once in the spring, but as soon as my feet got tan, the shade didn’t work at all. The color was too close to the color of my skin. Are you listening to me?”

  “It’s a real interesting viewpoint,” said Vano. Even though Mary was still completely nude, his hooommm was firm and solid. He let his fingers travel gently the three white scars between her shoulder blades, but he was not sexually aroused by her physical beauty.

  “I’m trying to explain something to you,” Mary Thorne reminded him. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “What you said was very nice, Mary.”

  Mary sighed. It was a sigh of impatience. She stood up to begin putting on her bra. She lifted the lovely globes devoutly into the 38D Cross Your Heart Playtex Special. She said to Vano, “You’re not very interesting, are you?”

  New questions generated fog, so the answer didn’t come quickly. “No, I guess not.”

  “You’re real agreeable, though. Maybe you can’t expect one with the other.”

  Vano had an idea: “You know what, Mary. I was thinking that you and I should have a date. All we ever do is have sex. If we went out on a date together, we might get to know each other better.”

  Mary Thorne put her blouse on. “Like I was saying, you’re really not very interesting.” Vano watched as she stepped into her white nylon bikini underpants. He couldn’t help but wonder what would be the benefit of being interesting. To be polite, though, he asked, “What should I do about it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Change your major, maybe.”

  “I don’t have a major,” Vano informed her.

  “Whatever.” She was ready to leave now. “There’s never any telling how long the heat will last. You’re very agreeable, but without being more interesting, I just can’t say. Seeker can come back now.”

  “It’s not Seeker, it’s Beeker. Arnold Beeker.”

  “Whatever.”

  When Arnold returned, he had a splint on his right thumb. “What happened?” Vano asked.

  “I just came from the health center,” said Arnold. “It turns out I broke my thumb this morning.”

  Vano was geared up to apologize for kicking him out of the room at Mary’s behest, but he decided this more current subject should be the agenda. “How did you break your thumb?” he inquired.

  “I broke it in my computer,” was the answer.

  “You broke your thumb in your computer?”

  “Yes, yes, if you have to know. I broke it in the printer.”

  Vano wondered if this might be the only case on record of a broken thumb by way of an Epson, but it would surely be embarrassing to ask such a question out loud. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you were kicked out of the room when Mary came. It’s not fair.”

  Arnold was pouting just the same. “You think I haven’t been treated this way my whole life?”

  After Vano apologized a second time, he said, “Maybe you and I should go to the union. I’ll buy your supper.”

  “The cafeteria meals are already paid for with our meal tickets, Vano.”

  After a lengthy delay, Vano said, “I’m pretty sure that was my attempt at humor.”

  “Ha ha,” Arnold said.

  On the way, they stopped at the union book store. It was Arnold’s mission to seek out the latest installment of New Age Chronicles, while Vano was content to simply browse. The target of this browsing was the large rack of popular paperbacks near the store’s entrance. Some of the books, the kind that might be found in a drug store or discount house, were currently popular. Others had a more traditional popularity.

  Vano’s eyes moved from cover to cover:

  The Jane Fonda Workout Book

  Chariots of the Gods

  Thin Thighs in 30 Days

  Buns of Steel

  The Late, Great Planet Earth

  Why Not You, Why Not Now?

  Looking Out for Number One

  Raquel’s Guide to Beauty

  Tough Times Never Last, but Tough People Do

  You Are Worth It

  How to Pick up Girls

  There were more books on the rack, but suddenly Vano felt like the whole store was vibrating. It shimmered, taking his breath away. The titles of the books seemed to melt together while a fiery orange aura flared and consumed the rack. Vano was plunging deeper in than he’d ever gone before, at least while in a state of consciousness.

  His head was swimming. He had to go to one knee to assure his own balance. The deafening roar was like a high-speed train blasting through a subway station. The only thing Vano could compare it to was his ballistic trip through the zone of the particle people on his way out of the coma.

  The book store manager, who had noticed his plight, was offering him a chair. “You look a little pekid, young man, maybe you’d better sit down.” But this book store manager, speaking through the dull roar, seemed so far away.

  “Did I lose consciousness?” Vano asked.

  “There’s no need to yell. We’re right here. I don’t think you lost consciousness, but you look a little green around the gills. If you’ll sit down, I’ll fetch you a glass of water.”

  Arnold helped him into the molded plastic chair while the manager went to get the water. Arnold asked if he was okay, but the voice was too far away.

  When the man returned, Vano said “Thank you. Do you have Kon-Tiki?”

  “I’m sure we must have it. Here—drink a little of the water.” Vano drank the whole glass. Then he inhaled and exhaled several times. He felt better.

  By the time Vano got his tray and silverware, the roar had receded, and he found himself in a comfortable, modest range of firm resonance. He was able to navigate the cafeteria line smoothly, choosing a cheeseburger and fries.

  When they sat down to eat, Arnold asked him once again if he was okay.

  “I think I’ll be fine.”

  With his mouth full of macaroni and cheese, Arnold announced, “I was over at the science building this morning. They’re starting a spelunking club. I joined up.”

  Vano didn’t answer. He saw how clumsy it was for his friend to manipulate his fork while wearing the thumb splint. He couldn’t take his eyes off the seven ballpoint pens housed in Arnold’s plastic pocket liner. Hooommm.

  “The spelunking club is going to be keen times for everybody. The sponsor says there are real quality caves to explore between Stockton and Sacramento. I think you should join up too.”

  “Caves are nice,” replied Vano. “I think they would be cool and resonant and peaceful.”

  “Is something the matter with you, Vano? Just listen to you. What are you staring at?”

  He was too deep in to answer quickly. “I didn’t realize I was staring.”

  “You’re staring is what you’re doing. What did you see in the book rack?”

  This delay was even longer, nearly ten seconds. Then Vano said, “I think I saw the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “The truth about the books, I mean.”

  Arnold’s mouth was full again. His words were garbled when he asked, “So what’s with the truth about the books?”
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br />   First, a long deep breath. Then Vano explained, “The books in the rack are really the same book. Ostensibly, their subject matter may seem to be different—a more beautiful body, a religious vision, or a path to worldly success. But in fact, all these books exist to assist, reassure, or reinforce the vulnerable egos of people on earth. They are essentially the same book, because they have the same purpose.”

  Arnold Beeker swallowed his mouthful. “Vano, I’ve never heard you talk like this before.”

  Vano smiled. “I don’t think I have either. It might be the particle people talking through me, and not me at all. It feels like the words come from somewhere else.”

  “The particle people? Did you say particle people??”

  Leaning back in his chair, Vano drank some of his Diet Coke. “I could tell you about this, if you’d like me to.”

  “Let’s go, let’s go. I have to hear it.”

  Speaking very slowly, from deep deep in, Vano proceeded to deliver the longest speech of his life. He explained to Arnold about the phenomenon of hooommm. He summarized his visit with the particle people, then reviewed the basic concepts of particle mode and ego mode. He described the physical appearance of the particle people in as much detail as he could remember.

  Arnold received this body of information with his mouth open, in the shape of an O. “Vano, this puts me in total awe.”

  “They told me about something called ultimate hooommm. I’m not sure what it means, but they also told me that some day my understanding might be complete.”

  “Ultimate hooommm??” Arnold took off his new glasses and began to clean the lenses. He shook his head back and forth. “Vano, what can I say? This is cosmic! This is so fantastically cosmic that it truly humbles me.” Arnold opened his looseleaf notebook and pushed aside his pie plate. He began asking questions so rapidly that Vano couldn’t keep pace with his answers. One of the questions was about eternal life.

  Vano explained, “The particle people already have eternal life. In their particle form they travel the universe at the speed of light. They don’t experience the aging process. Sometimes they travel at tachyon speed, which is even faster than lightspeed.”